


wanna be yours

by colectiva



Category: Platinum (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, not really sure what else to say to be honest it's not explicit, recreational (soft) drug, sex while on said drugs but it's all very consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29028867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colectiva/pseuds/colectiva
Summary: The sunset doesn’t reach him. Instead, it creates a halo – outlining and illuminating the gold in his hair.Sofia watches his mouth as he phrases his next words.He says this song reminds him of her.
Relationships: Avery Wilshere/Main Character (Platinum)
Kudos: 8





	wanna be yours

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this when platinum ended and decided to finish it for platinum weekend.  
> this is flowery writing…basically, avery invites sofia over to smoke a bowl and they finally give into the sexual tension.  
> inspired by the artic monkeys' i wanna be yours.

**Malibu skies bleed pink and gold, spilling in from the ocean’s horizon, straight through the tall windows of the beach house.**

The last of the sun’s strength adorns her legs with its darkening orange rays.

The air in the living room is thickly perfumed with the musk of hot earth. Thin tendrils of smoke dance from a forgotten glass pipe.

Eyelids hang heavy and low.

Lo-fi beats blanket the two motionless figures sprawled on a lush, shag rug. Their shoulders shake in intermittent intervals – a whisper is enough to cause a ripple of giggles.

The blonde hairs from the top of Avery’s head tickle her temple.

Her dark lashes brush the top of her cheeks and the insides of her eyelids are warm. When they finally shut, she makes out a blur of random dancing figures.

Their fingers caress the soft wool beneath them.

Her feet, coloured by the fading sun – so far away from Avery’s own, facing the other side of the room.

She pictures them like a compass. She’s west and he’s east– _or_ is he north and she’s south?

But the thought is fleeting. Gone before she can fully explore the corners of its meaning.

Instead, she lets the pleasant buzz wrap her up – lighter, lighter, _lighter_.

The music vibrates inside her and the beat from the stereo nestles there… and she thinks she can feel the notes pulsating within her, trying to escape. But she’s not done. Not done letting it soothe her, calm her, speak to her.

She wonders if this is what raw serenity is meant to feel like.

Sofia likes it.

She likes this _with him_.

This special place where she can run to, to feel safe and warm.

Avery turns his head to face her and she traces the outline of his features with her eyes. Slowly drinking in the bow of his smile, the rough stubble on his chin, and the way his eyebrows lighten towards the ends.

The sunset doesn’t reach him. Instead, it creates a halo – outlining and illuminating the gold in his hair.

Sofia watches his mouth as he phrases his next words.

He says this song reminds him of her.

She strains her focus and bit by bit she discerns the melody first, then the lyrics and artist – until she recognises Alex Turner’s British twang.

Maybe she imagines it, but her heart beats in time with the bass.

_“You call the shots, babe – I just wanna be yours.”_

Avery’s voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as he croons. A hard click of the “ _c_ ” in his throat, and a soft pop of air escapes his lips with every “ _b_ ”.

He meets her glassy, bloodshot eyes and his fingers reach out to play with the dark strands of her hair pooling near his face. His touch against her tresses sounds like static and she shuts her eyes, grateful for the simplicity.

She’s never told him; she thinks as she moves to hold his hand. Its heat transfers into her palm and Sofia studies it, the lines of his tendons, the blonde hairs that stop just at his wrist, the sturdy weight of it.

She doesn’t know why she’s never told Avery; she wants him to be hers too.

Each pad is softer than the last. And her lips move painstakingly slow from middle to forefinger.

Avery shifts from his position on the floor and his face hovers over hers. His woody scent mingles with the herb they’ve been burning – _and it’s everywhere_. It showers her senses, and she wants nothing more than to immerse herself entirely in it. It clings to the white fibres of his shirt and she hopes it’ll linger on her skin for days to come.

Blown pupils nearly engulf the green-blue of his irises she loves so much.

_Why has she never told him?_

The room is filled with Avery’s movements; they’re heavy, calculated, and bathed in sunset gold.

Tentative, at first, lips graze the slope of her throat. She’s not sure if it’s the pot or the months of pining for Avery, but she can _hear_ their skin brushing, crackling, _pressing_ together for the first time.

She wants to play the sound on repeat.

His hot mouth descends on her neck. Every roll and swipe of his tongue draws out for eternity.

He’s never kissed her before, she thinks, but here he is lavishing greedy attention to her pulse point. Small marks should blossom where his teeth nip – every caress by his lips more amplified than the last.

Their sighs fill the room.

When Avery pulls away, he scans her face ⎼ taking his time ⎼ lips parted and breaths quickening. Eyes dart to the spot where he buried his face just moments ago, and he swallows slowly. Impatience tickles her, she wants the heat of his mouth again, the sunshiny rush from the top of her head down to her toes.

She wants _Avery_.

And when their lips finally meet, goofy grins spill haphazardly across their warm faces.

No, the shotgun kisses at parties don’t count.

No matter how much sweeter the wisps of smoke taste from his mouth. No matter how much she wishes he’d drag it out just a second longer. No matter how frantic the fluttering in her stomach turns when his hand finds the back of her head, gingerly asking her to wait⎼ to make sure she’s breathing it all in.

 _This_. This purposeful press ⎼ where noses bump and shaky elated sighs meet ⎼ is more euphoric than any high she’s shared with him before.

It’s earthy, the taste of him settling at the back of her throat⎼ grounding her, tethering her to a cloud that makes her feel safe and sure.

His palms, her palms⎼ she can’t keep track of them because the slide of his tongue, the first time it touches hers, _is perfect_.

Warm, velvety, smooth, _rolling_.

His shirt is gone and hers follows.

The buzz, the high she’s been basking in, is friendly⎼ soothing over often rampant thoughts. And now, she’s light, so unconcerned with anything other than Avery. 

It’s freeing, it’s welcomed. It heightens the need for _this,_ for _him_.

She likes this, the quiet space she’s created so that this moment (one she’s waited so long for) can take precedence.

Avery shifts from his spot on the floor, settling between her legs. He blocks out the dying day, traces of sleepy orange sun draw the silhouette of broad shoulders and mussed hair.

He lowers onto his elbows and strokes her face like she’s something to be prized⎼ something so invaluable he fears marring it with his fingerprints.

Sofia wants to paint his body with hers.

She realises that’s an odd thought – but she has never wanted so much of what makes her, _her_ , to be a part of him.

The closest she gets to fulfilling this is when she brushes her chest against his, arching her back off the rug, and he watches her movements with deep devotion.

His head dips once more to her neck, and the sunlight finds her face, causing her to shut her eyes from the intensity of his tongue and the Malibu glare.

Hands above her head, his touch travels the supple flesh of an upper arm before it interlocks with her fingers.

And there’s just music, the sound of kisses, and the _thump, thump_ , thumping in her chest.

This symphony could surpass any chart. 

Everything is _warm_ and… _uncomplicated_.

Avery cradles her, lifts her onto the couch⎼ a welcomed change from the stiff floor. Sofia sinks into the grey cushions and waits for him to shield her from the sunlight once more, to cover her body with his⎼ to make it safe, keep her safe.

He kisses a path across the wing of her collarbone, the rise of her chest, the ticklish spot at her left rib, the dip of her bellybutton.

Even though her shorts are gone (kicking them off into a corner of the room) there is no chill that follows, only a generous balmy haze.

The question is shaky, disbelieving, and tight from the back of his throat.

 _Is this okay_?

 _More than okay_. _This is everything._

His mouth is hot.

His mouth is everywhere.

His mouth is not enough.

She whispers she wants to be his too.

Nails sinking into the tops of his shoulders, she whispers it louder and louder until it’s a straggled plea.

Avery doesn’t keep her waiting, rummaging around a side table’s drawer, and a sudden thought makes her giggle.

The relaxed sound catches his attention, quirking a brow at her unexpected amusement.

She thinks of all the others before her here, in his living room, or maybe in his kitchen around the corner. All others who stretched out before him just like she is, breathless and charmed. Ready and wanting, taking in the firm lines of his body while he prepares himself.

But she doesn’t dwell on it because he’s kissing her again, murmuring into her mouth, her jaw, her neck, with words that make weightless.

He says he’s wanted her for so long.

She is all he can think about. She is a light, burning late into the night. A torch song he will never have to pen.

The press of him against her⎼ chest to chest, nose to cheek, legs folded at his waist⎼ there could never be words for it.

With every stroke of his hips, her toes curl tighter, and the flecks of sand from their earlier walk prickle into her skin⎼ a fresh sheen of sweat coats her arms, the nape of his neck where her fingers tangle.

There could never be words for this.

Not when a euphoric chill wipes her mind, until she is _tabula rasa_ , and her thoughts are only of Avery.

Until she calls out his name, voice thick, laden with a new tenderness and cracking at each vowel.

He soothes her with whispered reassurances, runs his large palms down her sides⎼ her body searing beneath his.

 _I’m here_ , he susurrates and his hips slow. _I’ve got you. I’m here_.

 _Sofia_ , he says her name in awe, with a sweetness she can practically taste, coating her tongue.

She wraps him up, all tired breaths and sleepy looks⎼ and the sun is gone.

The living room is dark. Neighbourhood lights spill through, but not close enough to discover them.

It’s quiet, peaceful, their playlist has run its course. The only sound is the movement of their legs, the brush of skin on skin as they intertwine, sensing each other’s outlines.

A perfunctory movement that equates to: _Yes, I’m still here…are you?_

Avery dotes on her, but his questions don’t disrupt the newfound harmony. She smiles when she hears the familiar lilt to the end of his questions, British inflection and hoarse whispers: _Are you warm enough_? _Are you hungry_? _Do you want a glass of water_?

Sofia shakes her head and finds his mouth once more, slow and languid kisses.

 _I just wanna be yours_ , she hums back.


End file.
